Cosette and Valjean the full saga
by totalphangirl
Summary: Cosette and Valjean's life together. Instead of doing loads of one-shots I have decided to write chapters dedicated to different events in their life, such as their first encounters, their first Christmas together, and lots of other cute little tales from the sweetest father daughter relationship in Broadway. WARNING: very fluffy!
1. Trust

**Well, seeing as any Les Miserables stories I write are about Cosette and Valjean I have decided to stop doing lots of one-shots and instead I am writing a full chaptered story about their life together. Expect fluff! Requests are welcome!**

'Are you alright Sweetheart?' Valjean asked Cosette again.

'Yes thank you,' she replied in a small voice. She wasn't sure who this man was, or what he wanted from her, but he seemed to mean her no harm. In the last two hours Cosette had been treated with a beautiful doll (christened Catherine,) a new dress and a soft pair of shoes to replace her worn wooden clogs. She was comfortable and satisfied as a queen, but her harsh upbringing and acute awareness told her something was wrong, and that this man wanted to hurt her. None the less she was very obedient (also instinctive of living with the Thernardiers,) and jolted into action whenever Valjean asked her to do something. Valjean was slightly worried about how twitchy she was but hoped it would simply pass over time. After walking for half-an-hour in the thick snow, Valjean stopped by a tree. 'Would you like to rest for a minute darling?'

'Yes Monsieur!' Cosette said immediately, dropping to the freezing floor and tucking her pale legs under her chin. Valjean was a little taken aback. He shed his coat and lay it on the floor out of courtesy.

'Please sit on this Cosette; I don't want you to get cold.' Cosette edged herself along the side of the tree trunk and obediently settled on top of the brown coat. She ducked her head as Valjean attempted to make eye-contact. Madame Thernardier had told the girl that she was not worthy to look at adults, and she should make contact with the lowlife scum of her class. As a result of this Cosette would have minor conversations with the beggars outside of the inn when she was supposed to bring the water to and from the tavern. On one occasion she was discovered by Madame Thernardier. She shuddered at the memory. 'Are you cold, darling?' Valjean asked, misunderstanding. He looked down at himself, wondering if there was anything else he could use to cover her. Instead he tentatively laid an arm over her shoulder. Cosette flinched, again out of instinct, but gradually leaned in towards him. _'This man is not bad' _she decided. _'He's not like the Thernardiers. He's like the kind beggars I talk to.' _Cosette sighed heavily at this conclusion, and laid her head on Valjean's shoulder. Inside Jean Valjean was jubilating. _'At last!'_ he thought. _'At last this little girl is opening up to me!'_ he fizzed with an excitement that his face did not convey. He smiled warmly at Cosette, who laid her morals aside and locked eyes with him. A worried little smile jerked onto her peaky face and something warm shot through Valjean. It had cracked his cold, reclusive shell he had been living in, it had seeped through the years of torment and it had touched the raw core of human emotion. It was love. Valjean was the first to look away, somewhat worried about these fast-approaching feelings. He retrieved his hand from Cosette's shoulder and reached into his knapsack, producing two pieces of bread. 'Here you are… actually, take them both…' Valjean handed to bread to Cosette, who simply stared at them in awe.

'Really Monsieur? For… for me?' Valjean did not know whether to laugh or cry at the naivety of this little girl. He wanted to tell her that her suffering was over. He wanted to tell her that whilst he was there nothing would ever hurt her.

'Yes Sweetheart, and please, call me Papa.'

'Ok… Papa,' the word tasted sweet on Cosette's tongue. It felt right. She smiled, and began tucking into the bread. Valjean was startled at her behavior. She utterly devoured the bread, gnawing at it with fast, hungry teeth, and swallowing rapidly in an almost animalistic manner. Valjean looked at her with wide eyes, astonished at how someone so petite and delicate could eat so savagely. She ducked her head, ashamed_. 'It's ok.'_ He thought. _'I will teach her manners. She_ _must know never to be afraid.'_ He smiled, remembering how urgently he had eaten his food when he was taken in by the kindly old bishop.

'It's ok Cosette,' he said. Cosette looked up at him, tears glistening in her blue eyes.

'Are you angry with me?' she whispered, as the tears rolled down her face. 'Did I cheek you? Are you angry with me? Are you going to beat me, Papa?' Valjean stood up before realizing how intimidating he must look and dropping down to Cosette's level.

'I'm not angry at all,' he said softly, brushing at Cosette's cheek with his gloved hand. 'Cosette my child, I will never be angry with you, and you must understand now Dear that I will never, _ever _beat you. I promise.' Cosette wanted to believe this man, she really did but…

'That is what they told Mama!' she cried, breaking down into tears. Valjean was once again baffled.

'Cosette darling, what is it? What's the matter?'

'When Mama brought me there, to live with the Thernardiers, they promised her they would take good care of me! They said they would raise me like one of their own! Well, they didn't! They beat me every day! I still remember it! I told myself Mama would come… But she is dead!' she sobbed, and Valjean fought back his own tears.

'Your Mama sent me Cosette. I swear that whilst you are in my care you will be treated like my daughter. Cosette?' Cosette looked up at Valjean with her watery eyes. She relied on him. She wanted him to say the right thing. 'I love you.' Cosette's eyes widened. Her shell had been broken. She was flooded with light. All the years of living with the Thernardiers she had never heard a kind word. To have someone say they love her so beautifully overwhelming it made her unaware of herself. She flung herself at Valjean and wrapped her arms around his neck. Valjean did the same, hugging her small bony body to him like she was most precious thing in the world. A cocktail of emotions brewed inside of him. He let out a chocked sob and cupped his hand around Cosette's head, rocking her slowly from side to side like she was an infant. 'It's ok Cosette,' he whispered, rubbing his cheek against hers. 'I'm here.' Cosette cried onto his shoulder for what seemed like hours until she fell limp into his arms. She was asleep. Valjean froze, scared of awaking her and slowly snaked out an arm and began fumbling around the floor. He found the coat Cosette had been lying on and gently threaded it through his arms, so Cosette was covered. He wound it around her until she was fully wrapped, allowed her sleeping head to find his shoulder and set off into the night with his precious little girl in his arms.

* * *

'It's ok Cosette, almost home,' Valjean whispered. He had carried Cosette almost all the way but his arms had not yet tired. His arms would never get tired of holding her, just like his ears would never tire of hearing the word Papa and his lips would never tire of kissing her. Valjean fumbled around in the pocket of his trousers and produced a key. Ever careful of perturbing Cosette he opened the door with the utmost cautiousness, and closed it behind him with a satisfying, homey click. 'Cosette,' he said gently, sitting down and laying her out on his knee. 'Cosette,' he said a little louder. Groggily, the sleepy girl opened her eyes to see her papa's face smiling down at her. She smiled back.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'Home.' Cosette looked around in awe, gently lifting herself from Valjean's lap and unravelling her body from the brown coat. She found Catherine under the tattered folds and hugged her to her chest.

'Thank goodness! I thought it was all a dream!' she looked around the modest room. 'You have a beautiful home Papa,' she said politely. Valjean replayed that sentence in his head, realizing just how odd it sounded.

'It's our home Sweetheart,' he explained, stroking Cosette's stringy hair. She whipped around to face him.

'Really! Ours? Me too! Oh thank you, thank you!' she leaned over and hugged Valjean around the waist.

'There is no need to thank me darling. What's mine is yours. Now; I think it's time for a bath.' Cosette broke away from Valjean abruptly and began to shake. She had had a bath once before whilst living with the Thernardiers: she was cleaned with a scrubbing brush and her head was held under the cold water for fun and wrenched back up by her hair after a spasm of distress. She was six years old. Although this man seemed harmless the word 'bath' was sharp and painful to her ears.

'I…I…I don't want-' she whispered, so quietly that Valjean did not hear her. She decided that if she didn't struggle when being held under then he would maybe spare her the rod. As for the scrubbing brush, she would simply have to clench her teeth and endure it. Valjean, oblivious to this, had filled a basin with warm water and next to it had laid out a towel, a pitcher, a flannel, some soap and a comb. He rolled up his sleeves.

'Cosette, are you ready Sweetheart?' Cosette peered her head around the doorway, looking from Valjean to the bath and then back again. 'Do you need any help?' he asked kindly, getting to his feet and walking towards her. 'Have you had a bath before?' Cosette nodded slowly and Valjean noticed the fear in her eyes. He understood. 'Was it not very nice?' he whispered sympathetically. Cosette nodded again. 'This is a nice bath, I swear. Here, come and put your hand in it.' He very gently steered Cosette towards the basin and put his own hand in to reassure her. 'It's warm, see?' Cosette obediently swilled her hand around in the water and a relief flooded through her. 'Do you need help getting undressed?' Valjean asked. Cosette took a deep breath and nodded. In reality she wanted to be let alone, and she did not want him to see her naked. She had undressed bashfully many times in the inn, underneath the stairs in her sleeping place where everyone could see her. Sometimes men would sit and watch, other times they would hurl abuse and kick her for acting like a whore. Either way, she hated being ogled as she was forced to undress in public.

She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing herself for his lecherous gaze, but instead he simply undid the buttons at the back of her dress in a diligent manner and averted his eyes when she peeled away her underclothes. He held out an arm for her to balance on and slowly helped her into the tub. Cosette began to shake again, hugging her knees to her chest. 'Could you spread out for me, dear?' Valjean requested gently. 'It will be easier to clean you.' Cosette stretched her body out in front of him, embarrassed and afraid. Valjean gasped at her wounds but managed to keep his anger from her. He swallowed back something sour as he examined her arms. There were great slash marks up and down it, caused by either a knife or a belt. Valjean did not know which one to hope for. Cosette flinched as he gently stroked his thumb over the cuts. 'Sorry Sweetie, sorry.' Cosette was becoming more and more comfortable in the company of this man. There was no scrubbing brush in sight, and he seemed gentle enough. Valjean dipped a flannel in water and began to slowly dab at Cosette's face with a newly-found fatherly tenderness. Gradually the grime lifted off and Valjean found that Cosette had a very pretty little face. He poured pitchers of warm water over her shoulders and lathered up some soap for her hair. Soon her crude stringy yellow hair molded into soft long golden hair. He ran the comb through it one last time before blanketing her in a towel and gently drying her off. Her rosy skin was so starkly contrasting to the black-purple bruises on her arms that it somewhat emphasized them. Valjean was suddenly filled with hate over the Thernardiers and what they had done to someone so dear to him. Cosette smiled sleepily, oblivious to this, and drifted towards her bedroom to dress in her new nightgown.

When she came to say goodnight she looked so sweet that Valjean put his hate aside and lifted her up into his arms. Her small white nightgown covered most of her injuries, and had little tufts of frill by the arms. She looked like a new child. 'Goodnight Cosette,' he whispered, sliding her between the folds of the bed.

'Goodnight Papa,' she yawned. Valjean smiled at her small face_. 'yes'_ he thought. _'I think I am in love_ _with her.'_ He blew out the candle and left the room.


	2. the ragdoll

**Ok, so now I have an impossible choice to make: write more fluffy FanFiction or revise for an upcoming maths test… so hard! Ok, so I hope nobody has done this idea before. Ever wondered about that ragdoll Cosette used to own? (Based on a true story: I decided to give my Nan's old WW2 rag doll a wash to surprise her and kind of ruined .) It's mainly fluff so if you're into that kind of thing then enjoy!**

Three months had passed since Cosette had been rescued from the Thernardiers and she was coming along in leaps and bounds. Valjean had taught her how to read and write and she had no responsibilities but to go and fetch the bread once a week. Her scars were fading slowly but she still seemed rather damaged at her awful experiences and occasionally suffered from nightmares. 'Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?' Valjean asked, and each time Cosette would nod her head vigorously and wriggle under the covers. As much as Valjean enjoyed her company, he had noticed how awkwardly Cosette slept. Once she was next to Valjean she would curl up into a tight ball, her knees up to her chin and her arms tucked around them, as if holding herself together. Valjean would try him best to fit around her but it was often a challenge. Once her head was mounted on his shoulder he would stroke her hair and stare aimlessly into the dark, seldom aware that her knees were jabbing into his side. He understood why she slept this way; after living in such small confided spaces she was bound to hold herself oddly, but he wouldn't deny how uncomfortable it was. Two weeks later another problem arose.

'Can I sleep with you tonight?' Cosette whispered. Valjean awoke groggily and lifted up the corner of the covers invitingly. His eyes adjusted to the light and he saw that Cosette was clutching Catherine to her chest and also something else. It looked like a knotted tangle of cloth. She dashed towards the bed before Valjean could identify it, scrambled underneath the covers and crushed herself into her usual sleeping position. Valjean gently eased her head onto his chest.

'It's ok,' he whispered, stroking her hair. Cosette mumbled something before falling asleep. As Valjean attempted in exasperation to fit around her like a spoon he noticed something. It was some kind of pungent, unpleasant smell that was coming from his daughter. '_This doesn't make sense'_ he thought_. 'I_ _have only just given her a bath…'_ As he leaned over towards her the smell became stronger; it smelt like Cosette when she first came to him, of second-hand tobacco, dried sweat and stale alcohol. It really was foul. He sat up straight and looked down at her innocent little face. Perhaps she was wearing one of her old garments that she had owned whilst living at the inn… but he didn't see why she'd want to. He very gently unfolded her tangled arms, and the two dolls fell out. One was instantly recognizable as Catherine (only wearing her undergarments that Cosette referred to as her 'night clothes') and the other was a tangle of knots that Cosette had crafted herself whilst living with the Thernardiers. He tentatively picked up the doll at arm's length, realizing straight away that this was the thing omitting such a stench. He looked at Cosette and the doll, wondering what to do. Surely he couldn't just fold it up with Cosette like nothing was wrong, it was far too disgusting. Did he really have the heart to take it from the bed? In a miniature soliloquy he tucked the doll back under the covers, only next to Cosette. He would tell her that the doll had simply fallen from her grasp during the night.

The next day when Cosette had gone to fetch the bread, Valjean decided to tackle the ragdoll situation. He fished it out of Cosette's bed and laid it on the floor next to a basin-full of water, rolled up his sleeves and prepared himself. He gently lifted the grimy doll into the water, lathered soap onto a flannel and began scrubbing. 'She'll thank me later,' he muttered. 'It will be much more pleasant for her.' After ploughing away at the doll for about ten minutes, Valjean took his hand away. He didn't expect to see what he saw. The fragile material of the doll had split open, and tatters of frail material hung limply like the insides of a person. To Valjean's horror he realized that Cosette had stuffed the doll with strips of black cloth, making his mistake ever more obvious. 'Oh…no,' Valjean bit his fist, wondering how he could have ruined something so obviously dear to Cosette. He hauled the waterlogged doll out of the basin and took it into the kitchen area. He pumped most of the water out of it and then wrapped it in a towel, hoping that when it was dry, it would look better.

'Hello Papa,' a little voice came from behind, and Valjean whipped around. Cosette was smiling up at him sweetly, her arm wrapped around a loaf of bread. Valjean swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.

'Hello darling,' he stitched a smile onto his face. 'Shall we have some lunch?'

Once the table was set Valjean and Cosette sat opposite each other. In order to teach Cosette how to eat properly he had torn the bread into small chunks. 'This is how much you should have in your mouth at one time,' he explained, demonstrating. He took a piece between his finger and thumb in an over-feminine manner, then bit into it daintily, clapping his hands. Cosette let out a giggle and shook her head at her father's attempts to be ladylike. 'Here, you try.' Cosette seized a piece of bread and took a small, reserved bite, chewing slowly. 'Very good!' Valjean put an arm around Cosette and edged his chair nearer. 'Would you like some dessert now?'

'Yes please! Yes please!' Cosette bounced about in her chair in jubilation at the thought of dessert. She had found this new revelation whilst living with her father, having never tried sweet foods before. Whilst Valjean was in the kitchen he lifted the very corner of the tea-towel that was covering the doll and prayed for a miracle. 'Uh-oh,' he mumbled at what he saw, and threw the towel off. The doll was in tatters; the damp had weakened the material, causing it to break in half completely. He held the two pieces in his hands, wondering how to explain this to Cosette. All through dinner he had been trying to think of what to say_. 'Cosette, you know that very special doll you have… Cosette if you were to choose_ _between Catherine or that ragdoll that which one would you pick?... Cosette, how would you feel if I told you your doll was ruined?'_ He laid the thought aside and instead spooned some pralines and cream into Cosette's bowl.

Later that day, Valjean attempted to salvage the doll by sewing the two halves back together. He fumbled around in his box of possessions, looking for a needle and thread. The ruined doll was laid out on his lap, supported by a sheet of white cloth as if it was about to undergo and operation. After a certain amount of fiddling Valjean managed to loop the thread through the eye of the needle. 'Ouch!' he cried, accidently stabbing himself with the needle. He hissed in pain as a small bead of blood gathered on his finger. He wiped it away stubbornly and tried sliding the needle through the folds in Cosette's doll. He tried (and failed) twice to make a successful knot in the thread, his large hands too clumsy to sew. After many attempts he had made a very wobbly and obvious chain of stitches around the middle of the doll. He sighed heavily, knowing that he must come clean. 'Cosette,' he called. 'Could you come down here please?' Cosette bolted down the stairs, obviously brimming with anticipation.

'What is it!?' she beamed once she was at his door. Valjean opened his mouth but no sound came out.

'Could… could you come and sit on the bed please?' Cosette obediently edged onto the bed beside Valjean.

'What's that?' she asked, pointing at the two halves of ragdoll Valjean was holding. He looked down at it, knowing that any characteristics it might have had were entirely destroyed.

'Erm, that's what I want to talk to you about,' he took a deep breath. 'Erm… this is your doll. I tried to wash her, I'm sorry.' Cosette looked at the doll to Valjean, a look of utter heartbreak painted on her face. Her blue eyes brimmed with tears, her bottom lip wobbled and her face controlled. 'I'm sorry darling,' Valjean said again. 'I'll buy you a new one; we can make a new one if you want to.' Cosette looked at the floor, tears silently falling from her face. Inside her mind a clip-show of lost memories was playing, like the little snippets of the song she would sing to herself. She remembered how the doll used to comfort her on dark stormy nights in her small space under the stairs. She remembered holding the doll and crying, using her soft bandaged hands to wipe the tears away. She thought of all the characteristics and personality she had pumped into her doll, how she was like a toy, a friend, and also a mother. She felt like a great part of her had died suddenly. Cosette let out very small choked sobs, holding her hands in her lap and swinging her legs together. 'I'm sorry Cosette,' Valjean said again, not realizing how much of an emotional attachment she had to the doll. He pulled her into a hug, wiping away her tears and folding her small hands in his. 'I'm sorry sweetheart,' he repeated, kissing the top of her head.

'Could I… could I go please?' Cosette asked in a jittery voice.

'Of course,' Valjean said sadly. He hoped he would have been some kind of comfort to her, but he was wrong.

* * *

Cosette sat alone in her room for a long time, holding Catherine. She stared at the ceiling, watching a small spider's web blow gently in the breeze. She knew her father was only trying to be kind, but she was very upset. She looked back at the life she used to have, and rolled on her side. Although she had grown close to the ragdoll, it reminded her of the inn. Each time she held it in the dark she would be back in the tavern, with hardly any room to sleep. Although she had her father's arms blanketing her, the smell of the rag-doll brought her back to the musty tobacco and stale sweat of her living-space. She looked at Catherine's soft face, smiling up at her. Catherine had that clean, homely smell that belonged to her father. Catherine reminded Cosette of the promise her father had made. She reminded her of the happiness he had brought. It was then Cosette realized she did not need a tattered old piece of cloth to wipe away her tears when she had her Papa.

That night Cosette got into bed with Valjean with her body stretched out comfortably. She put her head on his chest, her arm slung around his stomach. Valjean stroked Cosette's hair like he always did, his arms guarding her. That night she slept with Catherine by her side.


	3. illness

**This chapter may be sloppy in areas. I know this idea has been done before. I also know that there will be some historical inaccuracies (I spent my last history lesson trying to depict the June Rebellion on the back of my rubber,) but they shouldn't be too bad because I've kind of researched it. Sort of. I will try to make this chapter sickeningly fluffy but also a little sadder than my previous chapters. I mean, apart from Eponine, who the hell wants Cosette to suffer?! I also want to thank everyone for all the lovely feedback I have got, so thank you guys! X X X (BTW I TOTALLY failed the maths test… Oh well!)**

'Hurry Cosette, we'll be late!' Valjean called one morning. It was a Sunday, and the two were already late for church. Valjean tapped his foot impatiently, irritated and also slightly worried about how dismissive Cosette was being. 'Cosette!' he called one last time. There was no answer. 'Alright, I'm coming upstairs!' he announced, feeling foolish, like he was talking to himself. He clattered upstairs noisily, his concern only growing. 'I'm coming in!' he declared, dithering outside Cosette's bedroom door. She was always very fussy about who came in and out of her room, although it was only her and her father who lived in the house. He drummed his knuckles against the door and waited. 'Cosette?' he said curtly. He announced himself one more time before swinging the door open and entering Cosette's dimly lit room. Orange morning light seeped through her curtained windows, mellow and dozy. Cosette herself was a mere lump underneath her mounds of blanket. 'COSETTE!' Valjean spluttered, surprised. He had asked her to get up and dressed over an hour ago, and she was normally so obedient and so enthusiastic at the thought of Church. He seized hold of the blanket and launched it off of her. Underneath lay a pale, skinny little creature, whose skin was macular and dotted with blotchy black-purple stains, like she had been beaten. As she lifted her head it seemed to loll over onto itself like it was unusually hefty. Her eyes were dull and outlined with heavy grey lines which were untypical of a youthful face and her sallow cheeks were deep and hollow, with sheet-like skin pulled taunt over her cheekbones. Her knuckles seemed to protrude out of her withered hands, and it was painful just watching her heave herself up and stumble in an ungainly fashion towards her father. Valjean simply watched in horror as a sickly little girl who resembled his daughter walked up to him with outstretched arms.

'I don't feel very well,' she said in a weak, rattling voice, like it was painful to speak. Lights danced in front of her eyes and her mind lurched into a spinning, sickening rush of dizziness. The room whirled and Cosette reached out and clutched Valjean's arm for support. Suddenly aware of himself, Valjean lifted up Cosette's frail elbows, reinforcing her and helping her back onto the bed. _What's happened? She_ _didn't look this bad last night!_ He thought. Valjean stopped, replaying the previous night in his head. Cosette had looked slightly bedraggled, but he thought it was just tiredness. She didn't finish her pudding but that wasn't too odd, and the only other thing worthy of noting was that she had spent a while on the toilet. Valjean's thoughts were perturbed by Cosette coughing. It was a loud, unfeminine cough that had come from the very bowels of her tiny frame.

'It's alright, Cosette,' Valjean reassured her, though he was sure it wasn't. He looked again at her blotchy black arms, wondering what could have caused such an injury. It was dotted all over her skin, so it couldn't have been just one accident, like falling out of bed. He didn't see how anybody could have reached her either, for he was always there and he had told her to scream if ever she was in danger.

'What's the matter with me Papa?' she whimpered, sitting on Valjean's knee. He rocked her gently from side to side.

'You're ill,' he mumbled. 'Here, get back into bed.' Cosette obediently backed onto the mattress and allowed her father to sling the covers back over her. Another involuntary cough rose from her throat. Valjean whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it against her mouth, ready to catch anything that might come as a result. Cosette spluttered into the clean white cloth, and Valjean peeled it from her mouth very slowly. What he saw came as a shock. What he saw was much darker than mucus. It was blood. He folded the handkerchief up quickly, so Cosette wouldn't see, but his heart with thumping at this terrible thought. He pressed a hand to Cosette's forehead, realizing straight away that it was warm and moist with sweat. Valjean began to take small, sharp breaths, wondering what could have caused Cosette to fall ill. He realized the symptoms: the blotchy skin and the blood from some of the prisoners he used to live with. Each were taken in the night and removed in the morning, their stiff, cold bodies never greeted with the simple courtesy of a white sheet. They would be wheeled out of the prison on large, open carts, and buried in un-named graves with other prisoners who had befallen the same fate. Valjean hoped more than anything that medics had improved their tactics over eight years.

'My tummy hurts,' Cosette squeaked, cradling her stomach with her free arm. 'Are we late for church? I'm sorry Papa, I-'

'No, no, no, don't be sorry dear,' Valjean said, stifling a cry that was rising in his throat. What if he lost her? What if he lost his little girl? 'You're not very well, so I'm going to take you to see a doctor. Have you seen a doctor before?' Cosette shook her head slowly, and anger brewed inside Valjean. He thought about Fantine and all she had suffered to pay for Cosette's none-existent medical care. 'Put your arms around Papa's neck,' Valjean said gently, and Cosette clung to him like a monkey on a branch. He bundled her up in blankets and lifted her tenderly from the bed, one arm caught up at her knees and the other clutching her bony back through the covers. Cosette's head swayed drunkenly, and Valjean swopped one of his arms to help support it.

He dashed through the streets of Paris, cradling the child in his arms, with each pounding footstep and each pulse of his heart praying Cosette would be alright. Cosette had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and her hands clasped together. Her fingers were shriveled and her eyes sunken, like they had been pushed inwards suddenly. Whenever she opened her eyes briefly she saw little snippets of dizzy brightness and shut them again, feeling overwhelmed with fatigue and tiredness. After being spat out of countless side-streets, Valjean and Cosette came to a clearing and a large, dismal-looking building marked 'plague hospital.' He darted through the worn door. Poverty stricken families clogged up the heaving room. Sickly babies feasted on their mother's breasts, bedraggled, ragged toddlers crouched on the floor and gaunt whores with white eyes stood in groups against the flimsy wall. Valjean stood still in the centre of the packed room, aware of the eyes following him. A skinny boy scrambled to his feet and darted after Valjean, his sooty palm outstretched. 'M'siuer,' he mumbled, the words thick on his tongue. Valjean was too concerned with Cosette to notice him. 'Spare a sou M'siuer? Spare a sou so me Mama can eat?' the boy looked no older than five, and bore blotchy skin and a bloodied smile. Noticing him, Valjean fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and fished out a franc piece, handing it to the wide-eyed boy. 'Thank you M'siuer!' he said in awe, and attention arose in the damp room. A young prostitute limped towards Valjean, clad in nothing but a yellow corset and her ragged underthings. Valjean shook his head in dismissal as she held out her hand, realizing that he might need his money to cure Cosette. She tried again, and guilt swelled inside Valjean. He looked at all the peaky faces and dim, sunken eyes, realizing that they were all in the same position as him. All around him were coughs and wheezes to add to the underlying rattling breaths of children.

'Cosette?' he whispered. Cosette stirred on his shoulder, her sticky red eyes opening. 'Cosette darling! How do you feel?' Cosette could merely gesture her head, scared of opening her mouth in case she was sick. All of a sudden there was a huge commotion in the room and Valjean whipped up his head, to see the poor crowding round a man. Valjean stood to see who the man was, and if he could help. Little children tugged at the man's clothes, whores tempted him with their bodies and the beggars fought viciously, holding their infants aloft. Realizing this man was a doctor, Valjean surged forward and their eyes met. The doctor took one glance at Valjean's hat and waistcoat, pulled at his arm and tugged him through to another room, much to everyone's protest. Frazzled, Valjean clutched Cosette tightly and looked around at the empty beds.

'Lay her down here,' the doctor instructed with a softness contrasting to the way he had previously behaved. Valjean obediently lowered Cosette onto a blood-stained bed and pulled the covers over frail body. 'Have you got any money?' the Doctor asked, making a tent with his fingers and laying his chin on top of them.

'Oh, erm… yes!' Valjean fumbled around in his pockets once more, suddenly realizing what had set him apart from the other desperate people. The doctor hastily got to his feet and stood by Cosette's bed. Without any consent of Valjean's he peeled her sleeve from her arm, examining her dotted skin. 'What's wrong with her?' Valjean croaked. 'Why's her skin like that?' the doctor let go of her limp arm.

'We don't really know,' he admitted. 'We think it may be a problem with the blood. Monsieur, may I ask you a question?'

'Of Course.'

'Do you drink water from public pumps?' Valjean shook his head, and then stopped, thinking of the little girl who'd dragged a pail of water through the woods one night.

'Well, she might have,' he answered, stroking Cosette's hand. The doctor paused.

'Does she spend a lot of time on the toilet?' he asked in a hushed voice.

'I have noticed that she has,' Valjean said worriedly, nodding his head.

'Monsieur, I'm afraid your daughter has cholera,' he continued, his unpretentious, casual attitude irritating Valjean. 'Some children overcome it, but most do not. All we can do is give her clean water to drink and hope for the best.' Valjean's eyes widened with fear, his voice caught in his throat and his heart seemed to drop into his stomach. No. Anything but this. 'I'm sorry,' the doctor bowed his head and darted into the waiting room. Valjean shot his head round and looked at Cosette's beautiful, sleeping face, a vision he loved so much that was threatened. Silent tears fell from his eyes.

And for the next few days, that's how it was. Valjean would race to the hospital each day (having being denied permission to sleep there,) spent the day with Cosette and went home once she was asleep, praying that she would live to see him one more time. Cosette's state would differ dramatically each day. Sometimes she would sit upright and babble perkily to Valjean, but other times she would not wake up at all and would simply lie there like a dead person. Her skin couler varied from white to grey, grey to purple and purple to black. The bruise-like clots under her skin would always be present, even on the best of days, and as the days turned to weeks Valjean began to worry. Was Cosette just dying slowly? That night he knelt by her bedside with his hands clasped together. 'Please God, don't take her too!' he whispered into the dark. If Cosette was well enough then she would pray silently too. Her prayers were little fairytales of castles on clouds and the soft white woman who would wait to be joined. Unlike most children, death was not a daunting thought for Cosette. She would miss her Papa immensely but she knew that he would join her eventually, and told herself that she was willing to wait. Valjean could think of nothing worse. All the endless years of loneliness he had suffered were forgotten whenever Cosette was near him. The Bishop had taught him the meaning of virtue; Cosette had taught him the meaning of love.

One night, when Cosette was dressed in her nightgown, Valjean helped her into bed and sat by her side. 'Please don't leave,' she said meekly, with those azure-blue eyes that made his heart melt.

'I have to,' Valjean explained softly, playing with a strand of her hair. Cosette ducked her head and picked Catherine up by the shoulders.

'Catherine's sick too,' Cosette announced, bending the doll's legs into a sitting position.

'Is she?'

'Yes,' Cosette insisted. 'She has collar too, like me.'

'It's_ Cholera_, dear,' Valjean sighed. 'Is Catherine going to be alright?'

'Yes. She just needs to see the doctor and drink some water and lie in bed with me.' Valjean gently lifted Catherine out of Cosette's hands and slid her underneath the covers. He focused on overlapping her little porcelain hands so Cosette wouldn't have to see his shiny eyes. There was a pause.

'Will I be alright?' Cosette asked. Valjean closed his eyes.

'I hope so,' he muttered. 'Now you get comfortable in bed, there's a good girl,' Cosette folded her knees underneath the covers and Valjean tucked her in. He kissed her on the head and even went as far as kissing Catherine, which made Cosette laugh. 'Goodnight Cosette, Papa loves you,' he whispered, turned his back, and headed home.

In the empty house Valjean allowed himself to sob as much as he pleased. He sat in the armchair with his back to the fire crying, his shoulders jerking and loud tears watering his hands. Whenever he caught sight of himself in the mirror he would stop abruptly, tell himself to man up and wash his face. When he got ready for bed he tried to put Cosette aside in his mind and concentrated on scrubbing his red eyes. At night-time he blew out the candle and got into bed routinely, breathing in the dead air of his room and lying awake for hours. But that night Jean Valjean did not get into bed.

It was seven O'clock when Valjean had stopped crying. He'd been reading one of his favorite books in the armchair to put his mind at rest, but something wasn't right. The words seemed to jump around on the page or merge into little black dots, not making sense. After reading a particularly lengthy passage and realizing he didn't understand any of it, he snapped the book shut and got to his feet. Something was having a little spasm inside of him; something was flashing a red light and sending shivers down his back. Whether it was a fatherly instinct or something entirely different, Jean Valjean just knew something wasn't right. Telling himself to go for a walk and calm down, he threw on his overcoat and hat, slipped on his boots and walked out of the house at a fairly brisk pace. The sun was only just setting over the Sienne, and as the sky baked red clouds and mulled everything down to a calm orange, Valjean found his feet walking in the direction of the hospital. _'I'll just go in and see how she is,'_ he told himself, swinging the door open forcefully and dodging the gangs of sickly beggars. To his horror, when Valjean finally got through to Cosette's bed, it was empty. His heart thundered in his mouth and his eyes widened in fear as he stared down at the crisp, white folded sheets that were of no use to him. His chest heaved in and out and he lifted the corner of the bed sheet, as if hoping to find Cosette huddled underneath. 'Doctor!' he yelped suddenly, noticing the man pass. The Doctor's head darted upwards as he saw Valjean advance towards him. 'Doctor, where's Cosette, where's my daughter?'

'Ah, Monsieur, there you are,' the doctor stammered, gazing up at Valjean with frightened eyes. 'I have some bad news.' Valjean felt faint. He sank onto the empty bed where Cosette had once slept and sat with his mouth open in horror. 'I'm afraid Cosette has taken a turn for the worst. She doesn't have long left. I suggest you take her home now and make her as comfortable as possible.' Each word hit Valjean like a punch in the chest. His eyes burned with fresh tears and he nodded his head slowly, getting up and following the direction that the doctor was looking.

Cosette lay outstretched on one of the white beds. Her body was still and her face was pale. Valjean simply stared at her frail little form, more tears streaking down his face. She stirred and opened her eyes a crack.

'Papa?' she mumbled. Valjean beamed at her, still crying silently.

'Hello, Darling,' he whispered.

'Papa,' she repeated weakly 'Papa… I don't want to die!' suddenly death seemed very scary indeed to Cosette. Her face crumpled and she began to sob. 'I don't want to die!' she wailed. Valjean tenderly scooped her up with her head on his shoulder. He lifted Catherine from the bed and handed her to Cosette.

'There, there, don't cry now.' He rubbed his cheek on the top of Cosette's hair. 'I'm going to be here all the time, don't you worry. Papa's here, Papa's here.'

Aware that it may be her last, Cosette treasured that walk home. She captured thousands of snippets of life with her sunken eyes, in that time just before dark when the streets are bathed in moonlight and things aren't always clear. In that dim light whores could be princesses, ragdolls could be made of China and castles on clouds could really exist. Valjean also cherished the final walk home, clutching Cosette tightly and kissing her head. When they arrived at the house, Valjean laid Cosette down in her bed and tucked the covers up tight around her. 'I'm going to be right here,' he whispered, and knelt down by her bedside.

* * *

That night was the worst night Valjean could ever remember. Of all the torturous years in prison he had never suffered so much fear, not even when he was dragged away from his sister and her children and condemned to a life of hell. All he could do was sit by Cosette and pray that each breath she took would not be her last. She had fallen asleep long before Valjean began his pleas. He stood up and began pacing restlessly, dashing to Cosette's bedside whenever he heard the slightest mutter or groan. In the small intervals between pacing and praying, Valjean cried for this newly-found grief, tucking his knees beneath his chin and holding himself like a child. His ears detected the smallest shift in the air as he waited in agony for Cosette's rattling breaths to cease.

When morning finally arrived, Valjean found himself curled up on his daughter's floor having fallen asleep. He jumped to his feet and darted over to Cosette's bed, his heart thumping. He was almost scared to look at her. 'Cosette?' he whispered shakily. Then, out of nowhere, the child he thought was dead rolled onto her side and opened her eyes sleepily. 'Cosette?!' he repeated. 'COSETTE, YOU'RE ALIVE!' he swept the girl up into his arms and peppered her with kisses whilst she gradually awoke.

'I'm alive!' she croaked feebly, yawning. 'Papa, do you think I could maybe have some water please?'

'Of course, of course,' Valjean babbled, happy tears running down his face. Whilst he was in the kitchen fetching Cosette's drink he leaned against the table, overwhelmed with relief. Sinking slowly into a chair he put a hand to his chest to steady his hyperactive heart. 'That little girl gave me such a fright,' he mumbled, breathless. He ran a hand over his face and a long awaited smile greeted his cheeks.

That night Cosette slept in Valjean's bed. 'We'll get through this Cosette,' he whispered.

'I know,' she sighed. The two lay together and Valjean held Cosette in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.

**Requests? Reviews? Really guys, I'm open to anything! This chapter was a lot sadder than I intended and I'm sorry it took so long to write! Well I have an idea for the next installment (evil genius face) so make you're there for it. I appreciate your time! Thank you SOOO much!**


	4. Christmas

**Ok, well trust me to get really ill THE DAY BEFORE WE F*CKING BREAK UP FOR CHRISTMAS! WHY LORD, WHY? Ok so if my brain hasn't turned to mush already then I will try and write a decent chapter. This idea has been playing on my mind a while… so I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas guys! (unless you're reading this in…July or something!)**

After the panic of Cosette's August illness became passé and November dawned on the horizon, Valjean turned his attention to planning Christmas. Cosette had been too bashful to announce it was her birthday, meaning that this would be her first gift-receiving event she would have living with her Papa. 'Papa, what _is _Christmas?' she asked one frosty morning, when the two were walking to Church.

'It marks the day that Christ was born… didn't they teach you that in Sunday school?'

'I don't think I was paying attention,' Cosette admitted apologetically. 'So… this Christmas _also _marks the first year we've been living together! Is that right Papa?' Valjean smiled.

'It is indeed,' he said warmly, gently taking Cosette's hand and leading her across the road. He couldn't believe he'd been caring for this child for a whole year; it had gone so quickly.

'Will we have Christmas like 'Ponine and Zelma have it?' she asked, swinging her hand in Valjean's and looking up at him with curiosity.

'We're going to have it even better,' Valjean promised, enveloping her hand in his and steering her towards the church.

'Can I help you Monsieur?' the woman behind the counter asked, a half sewn shawl splayed out on her lap.

'I'm fine thank you,' Valjean lied. He was looking for the perfect doll to give to Cosette on Christmas morning. The woman shrugged and instead focused on her sewing. Panic rose in Valjean's chest as he noted the racks and racks of dolls, each with their own detailed outfit and caricatured face; whether they were tall and elegant with golden ringlets and a warm porcelain smile or whether they were short and stout with plaited red hair and a sinister dimpled grin. He gently slid one of the dolls out of her stand and folded her over in his hands. There was something about her ginger hair and tightly corseted chest that made Valjean put the doll back on her shelf. The woman looked over from behind her desk.

'That's the barmaid doll,' she said, nodding toward the Madame Thernardier lookalike. 'There's a whole series of them… cooks, aristocrats, seamstresses; they can all fit in one big dolls' house.' Valjean nodded his head, taking it in. He glanced at all the cold, white china faces that were looking down on him. The aristocrats and queens had the most intricately designed clothes, although there was something about their rigid stance and icy smile that made him walk on. Large beefy maids and cooks stood in their own section, and Valjean found that he was lost in a rush of multicolored skirts and assorted hair pieces. The doll's beady eyes glowered at him judgmentally, their hands clamped to their sides and their fingers folded together. None of these dolls seemed to suit Cosette.

It was behind a soft felt doll that Valjean found what he was looking for. On one of the back stands there was a slightly shorter doll, whose face was modeled like a child's. She had peachy, unblemished skin and a shy yet warm smile. Waterfalls of wavy, lustrous golden hair fell down her back and a white frilled cap was tied in a small bow underneath her chin. Her lips did not provide such a contrast to her skin as the other dolls did, and instead they were concealed against the soft pink of her cheeks with simply the curve of a dimple. Valjean gently lifted her from the stand and took a closer look at her young face. Her blue eyes were painted rather than beaded and she was wearing a simple white dress with curls of flowers dotted up the arms and on the chest. Her outfit was modest yet well-crafted, made of satin and tied together at the back with a pearly clasp.

As Valjean took the doll to the woman to pay, she raised an eyebrow. 'Are you sure Monsieur?' she asked dubiously, gently untying the piece of string around the dolls ankle tagged: 'five francs.' 'This doll is part of the maid collection; she doesn't sell very well. Did you get chance to see the queen dolls?'

'Yes,' Valjean answered, fishing in his pocket and putting a six franc piece on the table. 'And I know that this doll is right for my daughter.' The woman smiled warmly.

'How old is your daughter?'

'She's just turned nine.'

'What's her name?'

'Cosette… well thank you mademoiselle, I greatly appreciate your help,' Valjean quickly tucked the doll into the folds of his coat and trudged out into the slush of the dark street. When he walked into the festively decorated house he found Cosette curled up on his armchair clutching Catherine to her chest. Valjean shed his coat, put the new doll behind him and gently lifted Cosette up into his arms again. She was getting bigger; soon she would be too large to carry. Valjean lowered Cosette into her bed, bundled the covers over her and tenderly kissed her goodnight before spinning on his heel and leaving the room.

Valjean carefully tucked the doll's padded skirts underneath her and folded her porcelain arms together before bringing the two halves of red-and-gold giftwrap together. He tucked and folded, making sure each inch of the beautiful doll was covered before he secured it with a large green ribbon. He slid it underneath the Christmas tree, brimming with excitement; he could not wait for Cosette to see it.

The next morning Valjean awoke to a high-pitched squealing. He rubbed his eyes in confusion, wondering if the kettle was whistling, and soon noticed Cosette bobbing up and down next to him. 'Papa, Papa, it's Christmas!' she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She reached out for the cover of his bed and shook it gently, encouraging him to groggily awake.

'Good morning Princess,' Valjean mumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 'Did the Good Fairy bring you anything?'

'Yes, yes! I found this in my shoe!' Cosette held up a louis d'or coin, the same kind that Valjean had put in her shoe last year. She took another moment to admire the coin, stroking her thumb over the glossy bumps of metal and tracing each etched feature carefully. 'I bet 'Ponine and Zelma never get coins like this,' she muttered to herself. She felt rather guilty after saying this and shoved the coin deep into the pocket of her nightgown.

'Merry Christmas Darling!' Valjean heaved himself out of bed and hastily threw on an overall before sweeping Cosette up into a hug. Cosette sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. She was unfamiliar to the joys of Christmas; many of her Christmas's had been spent cleaning up after the rowdy working class. The festive season simply meant more tables to scrub, more floors to sweep and more stockings to knit. Now she was living with her Papa, she knew things would be different. 'Let's go downstairs now Dear, I think there may be a surprise for you-' All of a sudden Valjean found he was being tugged down the stairs by Cosette. With a strong grip of his hand she thundered into the hallway, teeming with excitement and dragging Valjean behind her. She stopped hesitantly by the living room door, suddenly sliding behind Valjean, as if scared. 'Go on,' Valjean said encouragingly. He held out his hand and led her gently through the doorway towards the Christmas tree. Valjean kneeled down and pulled Cosette with him. 'Now, can you see anything behind there?' he asked. Cosette scrambled beneath the soft branches of the tree, triggering a delicious rustling sound. She squinted in the dim corners of the large room, trying to spot anything different that her Papa might have put there. Suddenly the candlelight flickered on one of the glass ornaments draping the tree. There was a red glint a foot ahead of Cosette. She gasped and reached out for it. Soon her fingers were enriched with the soft crackling of giftwrap, and her hands found the springy firmness of her gift and she gently took hold of it, sliding out backwards from beneath the tree. 'What do you have there, Cosette?' Cosette sank back to her knees. What she was holding in her hands was beautiful; the paper shone a rich gold and an inviting red, the green ribbon threaded through her fingers fluently and as she squeezed the package it bounced back into its soft shape. 'It's for you,' Valjean said, and Cosette beamed. She pressed the package against her cheek as if using it for a pillow.

'Thank you, Papa,' she whispered in awe.

'Thank you for what? You haven't opened it yet.' Cosette's face twisted in confusion.

'…_opened _it?' she crushed the gift to her chest protectively. 'What do you mean?'

'You rip the paper off, see?' Cosette's eyes widened in fear and she shook her head.

'R-rip it?' she sounded close to tears. 'But… it'll ruin it!'

'It won't ruin it Cosette, it'll just show you what's underneath… there's something pretty underneath.' From the look of utter blankness on Cosette's face Valjean soon realized she had never been properly introduced to the concept of presents. He sighed a little, wishing his daughter had had a more enjoyable childhood. 'You've never been given a present before… have you?' Cosette shook her head and then paused momentarily.

'Catherine was a present, wasn't she?'

'Yes, she was,' Valjean very slowly unpeeled Cosette's hands from the gift, gently unpicking her fingers and looking at her for permission. She nodded her head and Valjean slid the present off her lap. 'Just imagine this present is like Catherine except she's under paper… trust me, Cosette.' Cosette took a deep breath and gently retrieved the gift from the floor. She prodded at the fragile paper with her finger and the smallest flap fell apart. She winced and looked at Valjean who gave her a reassuring smile. She tentatively picked at the small incision she had made and began to shred the paper with her scrabbling hands. She tore bigger and bigger chunks from the paper and a smile crept onto her face.

'This is fun!' she giggled, making Valjean laugh. 'What is it Papa, what is it?' She beamed up at him and ripped the last of the paper away. In her hands she held the doll her father had so lovingly chosen. She gasped, her eyes wide. Her head leapt from Valjean to the doll and back again, her mouth hanging open in awe. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Oh, thank you so much!' her eyes glistened with tears for she would have never expected a _second _doll; even Eponine and Azelma were forced to share. 'She's beautiful Papa… Thank you!' Cosette flung herself at Valjean.

'You're welcome Darling: Merry Christmas!' once the small session of hugging and kissing was over Cosette simply sat admiring the doll. She put a hand to the curvy padded thickness of her waist and undid the clasp at the back of her dress. 'What are you doing?' Valjean asked.

'Seeing if she has any pretty petticoats… Oh LOOK!' Cosette lifted up the first layer of skirt on the doll to show Valjean the pearly grey underskirts lined with a frill. 'Look Papa! She has proper nightclothes! Oh and a little comb too!' Cosette unhooked the comb from the doll's pinafore pocket and began raking it through her soft golden hair. 'I love her! I love her!' Cosette squealed, shivering with excitement. For the next couple of minutes Cosette simply sat dressing and undressing her doll and swapping the outfits with Catherine. Valjean was delighted at how much she liked her present and so stood up to leave her to play. 'Where are you going?' Cosette asked, wrapping the two dolls up in her arms and standing up with Valjean.

'I'm just going to make breakfast… a special Christmas breakfast!'

'Don't go! I still haven't given you your present!' Cosette gasped. 'Oh goodness, I've been so selfish… wait here, I'm sorry, I'll get your present now!' she babbled, charging up the stairs and leaving the dolls abandoned on the floor. Valjean chuckled a little and then reached over the bend the dolls into a sitting position. He was curious as to what Cosette was going to give him. Soon after Cosette came darting down the stairs with a bundle of cloth in her arms. She beamed at Valjean. 'Merry Christmas Papa!' she said, her cheeks rosy from running.

'May I?' Valjean gently took the bundle from her arms and as it unravelled he saw that it was knitwear of some sort.

'It's a scarf…  
Ta-da!' Cosette threw her small arms out wide as if presenting Valjean with a magic trick. Cosette had carefully woven a sunny yellow, a bright blue and a stark red together to make Valjean a long thin scarf. Valjean mimed being awestruck and clutched a hand to his chest in mock surprise. Cosette let out a heartwarming laugh.

'Oh, thank you pet! It's beautiful!' Valjean twisted the scarf over to see the other side. The knitting was a little messy and the coulers clashed but Valjean didn't mind a bit. He slung it over his neck twice. 'It's warm too! Thank you dearest; I shall wear it all the time!' He stood, clad in the peculiar outfit of a nightshirt, a jacket and a coulerful scarf. 'Now, why don't you run upstairs and change? Put on your best dress for Church now!'

'I will!' Cosette obediently dashed up the stairs and rifled through her wardrobe-full of clothes. Her feet nudged something on the floor. Valjean heard her gasp from the kitchen and smiled to himself, breaking eggs into a pan. Kneeling down, Cosette found another soft package wrapped in the same paper that her doll was wrapped in. Valjean heard feet on the landing and called up to her:

'Unwrap it! Don't wait for me, go on!' Cosette retreated to her bedroom and began to shed the gift of its paper. She held in her hands a rich green dress, heavily embroidered with beads and golden thread. The dress had red cuffed sleeves and layers of crimson petticoat that was made out of some kind of silk-like material. She gasped once again in delight, pulled her nightgown off over her head and slipped into the luscious, silky material of her new dress. She could feel the frills and lace of her petticoats heavy on the thighs, the light reflected glossy overskirt that shone a rich, holly-green. It was only then that she noticed the embroidered sprigs of holly on the chest of the dress and the tufts of sleek curled ribbon gathered on her shoulders. She fell back onto her bed, feeling like someone's soft feathery arms were embracing her. As she made her slow decent down the stairs Valjean watched smiling. 'Thank you,' she said quietly and simply, wrapping her arms around Valjean's waist.

'You're welcome,' he said, stroking her hair. He steered her into the kitchen and the two ate their crepes next to each other. Valjean tucked a napkin onto Cosette's dress and told her to eat carefully.

Once church had ended, Valjean began to cook the Christmas dinner. 'Have you ever had Christmas dinner before?' Valjean asked. Cosette shook her head vigorously.

'I just had the scraps,' she said meekly. Valjean nodded sadly, and began to chop vegetables.

'What are you calling your new dolly?'

'Amélie,' Cosette said, stroking at the face of her new doll. 'That's what I've called her. She's Catherine's sister.'

'Is she?'

'Yes, she is,' Cosette said matter-of-factly. 'And I'm their Mama… so I suppose you're their grandpapa!' Cosette ran out of the kitchen shrieking with laughter.

'Come now, I'm not _that _old!' Valjean smiled, shaking his head. He smothered his hands in butter and began to slowly grease the goose. He made a bed of vegetables for the goose before sliding it into the oven along with potatoes and other vegetables. 'Cosette!' he called, 'It's time to leave!' Cosette was sitting on the floor of the living room cradling Amélie and Catherine on her lap.

'Where are we going?' she asked, standing to her feet and brushing down her skirts.

'We're going to hand out money while the dinner cooks… put on a shawl now dear, and leave the dolls!' Cosette obediently let her beloved toys fall from her limp arms and threw her black shawl over her shoulders. Valjean blanketed himself in his shabby brown coat, threw on his hat and gloves and slipped a pair of woolen gloves onto Cosette's tiny hands. 'Stay close Cosette,' he muttered, clutching her hand tightly and steering her this way and that. He reached into his pocket and handed Cosette a handful of franc pieces.

Beggars swarmed at the father and daughter desperately as soon as they came into sight. Cosette hid behind Valjean. 'It's ok darling, they won't hurt you, they just want help.' Cosette slowly came out from hiding but remained wary as she pressed franc pieces into grimy hands. Valjean reached into his pocket for more coins and the two walked across the length of the Siene, distributing money to the poor and homeless. The sun slowly sank beneath the water and Valjean seemed to worry about the dinner burning. Cosette was thinking of other things. She looked out at the pier where gangs of frail-looking old women were gathered. There wore crude yet brightly coulored rags and their bony arms were uncovered. She tugged at Valjean's coat and gestured towards the women. Valjean shook his head, knowing straight away that the women were prostitutes. As much as he wanted to help them he wasn't going to take Cosette over there. 'Not today,' Valjean said firmly, patting Cosette's shoulder.

'But Papa, they're-'

'I said not today!' Cosette was slightly taken aback at how curt her father was being. He loosened his grip on her fingers ever so slightly and Cosette saw her chance. She slipped her hand free of her father and dashed into the rush of people. 'Cosette!' Valjean bellowed, charging after her. The little girl weaved her way through snippets of life easily, dodging people and carriages and nipping between little cracks and alleyways that lead her down the steps to the pier. 'Cosette!' Valjean called again, his heart thumping with concern. He was a lot slower at pushing through crowds. 'Cosette, stop!' The whores gazed at this defiant child in surprise as she hop-skipped down the cracked stone steps as casually as if they were her stairs at home. Cosette also peered around in a horrified surprise as she realized that these women were not old, and that they were actually very young. There was a particularly skinny girl standing with her back to the scene. Cosette approached her tentatively.

'Mademoiselle?' The girl spun on her heel, surprised at how youthful the voice sounded. The girl was possibly the youngest whore working there, being no older that fourteen. Cosette gave her a shy smile.

'What are you doing here?' the girl asked. 'Go, this is a dangerous place… you're just a child!' the whore made shooing motions to Cosette who would not budge. Instead she dove her hand into her pocket and retrieved the louis d'or coin that she had received for Christmas.

'Here, have this.' Cosette smiled, stretching out her gloved hand and pressing the precious coin into the girl's palm. The girl stood, stunned before plunging the polished coin into the yellow tatters of her skirt.

'Thank you!' she whispered, a smile stretching her red lips. She placed a hand on Cosette's shoulder, noticing a man approach. 'Hurry on home child, this is a horrible place,' the girl hissed, giving Cosette an encouraging push towards the stairs. Cosette glanced back anxiously at the man who was approaching the young prostitute. Valjean reached Cosette at last, relief flooding through him.

'Cosette!' he bellowed, snatching up her hand and pushing her up the stairs. 'How dare you, you naughty girl! I told you not to leave me! Do you know how _dangerous _it was down there?' Cosette bowed her head in apology.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, casting a sneaky glance at the girl by the pier. She had hold of a man's hand and was gently steering him somewhere. Cosette wondered where exactly they were going and hoped her coin may have helped.

That evening Cosette was graced with the most sumptuous sight of a tableful of food. The succulent goose shone its glazed glossy back as coils of steam rose from it. The Christmas pudding sat behind it, firm and moist and bathed in thick, pearly cream. Various vegetables lay about the table, as well as the lively sprigs of holly that spattered the table with couler. A small bowl of cranberry sauce shared a plate with the goose, glistening an inviting crimson. 'Tuck in!' Valjean said. Cosette did not need to be told twice. She accepted a slab of goose, swimming in its own juices, as well as a spoonful of bittersweet cranberry sauce. She bit into the thick fleshy brown slice, allowing the warmth to spread through her. Valjean leaned over and spooned potatoes and parsnips onto her plate, and she devoured the crisp, tanned vegetables and the warm fluffy innards of the potatoes. Soon her plate was empty. 'Good gracious, you were hungry, weren't you?' Valjean smiled. Cosette too smiled, and sat patiently until Valjean had stopped eating. 'Would you like some pudding now?' Cosette nodded her head vigorously, curious to taste this new cake. The pudding crumbled into a mound of moist, rounded crumbs and tender currents, topped with tidal waves of thick, buttery brandy sauce. Cosette spooned it into her mouth and closed her eyes with the bliss of it.

'Merry Christmas Pet,' Valjean whispered to the sleeping Cosette. She had fallen asleep in his armchair, driven drowsy with food, excitement and the mellow burning of the fire. Valjean hooked his arms under her head and her knees, making sure that Amélie and Catherine were anchored in her grip. As he carried her to her bed he wondered how he could have ever thought she was getting too large; she was the perfect fit for him, light and a feather and small as an infant. He drew back the covers of her bed and paused, tucking a hair behind her ear. He savored the beautiful moment for a few seconds and held her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.

**Well, that chapter was a little longer than I intended! Please review or request anything guys, I'm open to ideas! Until next time, MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


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